Hunting the Divine
by BillBabe
Summary: SPOILERS! Set right after season 8. Dean finds out Sam will die no matter if he finishes the third trial or not and only the purest of angels can save him. He instantly decides to hunt down the only angel left: Metatron and Castiel offers to help him. DESTIEL; slowly evolving.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: This is new for me. I've never written anything this long before, as I seem to lose interest after some time, but now I actually have a plot, so I thought I'd give it a shot.__ Please R&R, and__ inform me if I've made any mistakes. English's not my first language._

_Warnings: Rated T for language (will later be rated M for sexual content) ;D_

_I claim no ownership of nothing but my imagination._

_ALLONS-Y!_

* * *

Chapter One

The buzzing sound of Dean's phone slowly pulled him out of his dream. Still half asleep he stretched out an arm and fumbled across the nightstand. Finally he pressed the small object to his ear and grunted a 'what'; not caring who was at the other end. At first no one replied and Dean considered just hanging up, but then the unnerving sound of a shallow breathing caught his ear and made him sit up, alerted.

"Hello?"

"Dean," a raspy voice slowly replied.

Dean froze. All thought was put on hold instantly. His tongue felt like sandpaper as he forced out a single word:

"Cas?"

…

It had been three days since Sam had almost done the third trial and killed himself. Three days since the angels had fallen. Dean had been sitting pressed up against the Impala, clenching Sam's shoulder with a shaking fist, staring at the fall of a species he held nothing but contempt for. But it had felt wrong. That had not been supposed to happen. That was not what he had wanted. That was not what Cas had wanted. At the thought of Castiel, something flamed up inside him. He couldn't quite determine if it was anger, dread, sorrow or hate. Or maybe all of them. He knew, this was Castiel's doing and he could only imagine the ache the angel must have felt, seeing the fatale consequence of another one of his good intentions. But at the same time he didn't give a rat's ass for his friend's heartache. He had left. He had left Dean when Dean had needed him the most, when Sammy had been so close to kill himself, and he had left them to meet up with a guy, they both knew had tricked him more than once.

Dean had stared at the falling lights wondering if one of them were Castiel, and what happened to them when they hit the ground. Were they already human enough for the impact to kill them? Dean had closed his eyes and waited for the sky to darken once more. Suddenly Sam had had another fit and started to shake violently. Dean had been with him in a second, but his brother had not reacted to him at all. "CASTIEL!" Dean had screamed again in pure desperation, knowing too well Cas could not hear him nor come to his aid anymore.

He had thrown his half unconscious brother on the backseat before hitting the road and calling Kevin, quickly filling the confused prophet in.

"I need you to read the Demon Tablet and find a way out of this for Sam," he ordered.

"Dean, if Metatron's fallen too, I don't think I'm a prophet anymore," Kevin must have suddenly understood what he had been saying, for his voice had sounded relieved at the end of the sentence. Dean had felt a sudden urge to punch him in the face. "Besides, you have both the tablets."

"Dammit!" Dean had sworn, "I'll be there with them as fast as I can," He had thrown the phone in the passenger seat before Kevin had had time to answer and sped up.

Already the next morning after the fatale night, Sam had been up and walking around the bunker. He seemed to be doing much better already. It took the top of Dean's worries and made him act less like a caged lion, biting and growling at everything daring to get in his way. Though, Dean's experience told him that nothing ever went easy for the Winchesters, so he had kept a watchful eye on his little brother anyway, asking him how he was doing and how he felt. And of course he made Kevin translate the tablet anyway; to make sure they had not missed anything.

Dean had tried to get in contact with Castiel a few times. He had tried to call his phone a few times, but each time he had been told the number had been out of reach. Though he knew the angel had fallen, he had tried calling Castiel's name in frustration anyway. He had even prayed to him. Dean knew that this time his friend had a reasonable explanation for not reacting to Dean's calling, but the hunter could not help thinking Castiel was just too ashamed to stand by the shit he had made, and he was all ready to strangle the idiot at sight. Or maybe he had died, but Dean had refused to even consider that a possibility.

…

As Dean put his car to a hold he didn't find himself to just jump out of the vehicle as usual. He didn't know what was holding him back; he could just feel something akin to nervousness stir inside him. Before he could contemplate further, he pushed it aside and hurried out the car. He had driven to a small, remote town that seemed to consist of nothing more than maybe a score of streets and the bar, Dean now approached. He opened the door with cold hands and quickly scanned the room. It was mildly crowded and he slowly made his way to the bar, eyes and ears open. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. In the far corner a person sat huddled over a small round table. Head bowed, dark hair ruffled and the once light trench coat covered in dirt.

Without Dean realizing he moved over slowly until he stood in front of the small table. Finally the man lifted his head and blazing blue eyes bore into his with a familiar pressure.

"Hello Dean," Castiel said.

"Cas?" Dean said with a breath he didn't know he had held and a relieved smile spread across his face. Castiel stood up and returned the smile with a small, ghostly lift of the corner of his mouth. Dean put a hand on his shoulder. As he felt the warmth radiate through the fabric of the coat under his palm, he finally understood that the friend, he thought he had lost again had come back to him. He looked at the smaller man almost in awe before he pulled him into a hug. Castiel let out a small sigh and returned it.

"I'm sorry, Dean,"

The quiet words pulled Dean back to reality. He suddenly remembered everything: Castiel putting a lying, manipulative angel before Dean and Sam, eventhough Sam had been dying. The next thing Dean knew Heaven seemed to be collapsing. Dean pulled away and starred at him. Castiel could clearly sense the changed mood and avoided his piercing look, shame lingering in his eyes. Dean felt his anger falter slightly, but he refused to give in to those damned puppy eyes.

"What the hell did you do?" He asked sharply.

Castiel seemed to struggle with the answer, but finally he looked straight at Dean. It felt like a wall had been build behind the blue orbs.

"I just eradicated my kind and doomed my entire family and myself to mortality, weakness and despair, and Heaven and Earth to the mercy of demons. That was what I did. But that's roughly what should be expected of me by now." The contempt in his voice made the man in front of him loose his composure for a short second. He didn't know how to respond.

"What exactly happened?" Dean asked after a short, tense pause, and sat down.

Cas sighed and followed suit, folding his hands on the table and looking at them for a bit.

"Metatron, he... everything Naomi told us was the truth. And I wouldn't believe it. I just couldn't bear the thought that my attempts to repay my previous mistakes would fail. So I went to Heaven; to help Metatron further or to confront him, I'm no longer certain. But the second I arrived I knew I shouldn't have. Naomi was dead. He strapped me down, slit my throat and..." Castiel paused. He was now wringing his hands, "… and stole my grace. He told me it wasn't really trials, but a spell, and my grace was the last piece he needed to complete it."

"So. You... didn't do it? Your actions didn't make the angels fall?" Dean asked slowly, feeling a short-lived relief wash through him, before he remembered that maybe Cas had not completed the finale trial – or spell as it now turned out to be – but he had once again left Dean, when he had needed him the most. But he had done it because he had though he could still save his home. Dean knew how much he would do for his family, for Sam. He would literally let every demon in Hell walk the earth, if that would save his little brother from dying. But what was Castiel's excuse? Dean had treated this freaking angel – _man _more like family than Heaven ever had, he had been a brother to him, and still he had left him behind. He had left Sam behind, knowing that he maybe was seconds away from dying. Under the table Dean's hands clenched into fists.

"Dean, I did bring him the other two ingredients to his spell and thereafter I literally delivered myself as the last piece. Once again I blindly, _naively_ threw all my hopes in the hands of a man I have had no reason to trust. This. Is all. My fault, Dean. Do not try to say otherwise," Castiel' eyes were glazed with fury and his voice heavy with self-loathing.

"I'm not," Dean answered impassively. Castiel sat back with an indefinable expression and shadows hunting his eyes.

They sat there for a moment staring at each other, before Dean sighed and covered his face with his hands. _You fucked up, Cas, big time. Again. And again it wasn't your intention. And again I don't know if I can forgive you._

Dean sat back and looked at the bar instead of his friend. It seemed so much easier. "Beer?"

Castiel didn't reply. He just kept looking at Dean with sorrowful eyes, as he left the table.

A moment later, Dean placed an El Sol in front of him nonetheless. He took a swig of his own just to distract himself from his inner discussion. Castiel stared at his beer as if it was mocking him, but then he resolutely grabbed the bottle and placed it to his lips.

They drank in silence for a few minutes. From time to time Castiel would just look at Dean as if he knew the hunter was struggling with more than he let on, and he was somehow able to read what it was on his face, if he just looked hard enough. Dean just handled that by not looking at the angel at all.

_Human, _Dean reminded himself for the 6th time that night. _Cas' just a human now._ Each time the thought had felt heavier and heavier, as if did he slowly realize the truth of it with every return it made. He drank again to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth.

"How did you get my number? Your phone's out of order," Dean wondered, not explaining how he knew that.

"My phone broke shortly after your last call, but the lady behind the counter," Castiel nodded at the bar, where a red headed woman, a bit older than Dean, but still decent looking, stood chatting with some of the regular customers, "she fixed it for me. Apparently it needed to be '_charged_',"

"You didn't know how to fucking charge your phone? Fucking angel," Dean mumbled into his beer, taking a large gulp, ignoring the way the other man moved in his chair, staring at him with almost painful eyes.

"How did you escape?" Dean asked after a minute of heavy silence.

His friend didn't answer straight away, but took his time to look thoughtfully at nothing.

"Metatron just sent me away," he finally mumbled, "he said that I should go live a normal life, and when I die and go to Heaven I should find him, and," Cas suddenly stopped, staring straight ahead. Alarmed Dean sat up properly, looking between the point of the other man's gaze and the man himself.

"What?" he asked.

"Metatron is in Heaven. Dean, Metatron's still in Heaven. We have to get him out of there."

"Ok. And why would I help you?" Dean asked. Castiel looked at him for a second, and Dean suddenly felt like he was very close to being slammed up against the nearest wall.

"Because your current feelings towards me are insignificant compared to the danger at hand. All the angels may be gone, but it's still Heaven, Dean, one of the most powerful places in the universe, and an angel like Metatron controlling it can only end in catastrophe. You have once before witnessed what the power over souls can do to an angel." For a moment grief took hold of the blue eyes, "I cannot risk him achieving such powers. He cannot be allowed to stay there." Castiel finished more silently.

The urgent tone, the pain and desperation in his eyes and the memory of "Cas the God" were more than enough to convince Dean that this was something he couldn't ignore.

"How do you plan on getting into Heaven?" he asked, sounding indifferent, not wanting to just give in to Castiel's request of help, or at least not wanting him to think he would help him just like that.

Castiel's eyes flickered before he stared hard at the table, trying to remember the answer.

"I can't fly there anymore, so we need another way, but I don't recall ever having heard of a secret passage in," he said with remorse.

In that moment Dean's phone started buzzing around in Dean's pocket. He fished it up and looked at the screen: Kevin. Why the hell would he call at... 3:46 in the morning?

"Kevin, everything ok? Is Sam alright?" he asked as he answered.

"Sam's fine Dean. Still sleeping. That not why I called. No, wait, that is actually why I called. I woke up when you left, and couldn't fall asleep again, so I decided to translate a bit more of the tablet. Usually helps me sleep. But suddenly I found it: The part about ditching the trials. Sam's not ok, but he doesn't know. It hasn't broken out yet, but Sam's sick, Dean."

Dean's entire face hardened. He could feel his jaw twitch as he asked: "What's wrong with him?"

Kevin seemed to falter before he answered: "I'm not sure. It just says that the trials will posses his mind and slowly... drag it to hell - I think. Listen Dean, I'm not sure what this means," he quickly added, "but I think that as soon as Sam did the first trial he had sacrificed his soul to Hell, no matter the outcome."

"I will _not _let him go to Hell. Not again," Dean almost croaked, feeling ready to march directly into Hell this very instant and destroy it and every one of its wretched and disgusting inhabitants. "There must be a way to stop it, or I swear to God, I'll find one myself."

"There is a way," Kevin said slowly, "Sam's soul can be healed..." Dean closed his eyes feeling a spark of hope, "…by the purest of angels."

Dean stopped breathing for a moment. He briefly considered throwing the phone across the room, but figured there wouldn't be any advance in loosing contact with Kevin.

"Nothing else?" he asked.

"Nothing that I've found yet,"

_There should be an expression saying; 'Lucky as a Winchester'_, Dean thought darkly.

"Alright, we-I'll be heading home soon," Dean felt no great need to fill Kevin in on Cas' recent reappearance. As he had put his phone away, he buried his face in his hands, not carrying that Castiel was sitting right across the table, observing him. The hunter lifted his head, meeting the gaze of his friend. He could tell Castiel wanted to know what was going on, but didn't dare ask.

"There's no angels left, is there, Cas?" Dean sighed instead.

Castiel furrowed his brows for a second, but then quickly accepted Dean's change of subject, and said; "No one besides Metatron, I guess." He made a small face.

"Would you say that Metatron is now the... purest angel then?"

Castiels's eyes darkened, "Metatron is a traitor and worth even less than Lucifer himself. He is the most unholy, tainted, disgusting being to have ever called himself an angel," he stated coldly.

"It's just, we have a new problem, Cas," Dean said meeting the blue eyes with a serious expression. Castiel leaned forward in his chair, listening, as Dean told him everything Kevin had told him.

"I don't know if Metatron will count as 'the purest of angels', Dean," Castiel sighed, "he _is_ the last one in existence and can therefore theoretically be seen as the purest, but I don't think that's what God meant."

Dean bit his lip. He doubted his own theory too, but it was his only hope. "Fuck!" he slammed a hand to the tablet. Castiel eyed him unaffectedly. "Maybe Kevin will find something else on the tablet, but until then I'll be looking for Metatron."

"You know, I'll help you. We are after all looking for the same angel."

Castiel smiled searchingly, and Dean found himself returning it, although a bit forced.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: I'm so so sorry to those of you who've read chapter one before July 13, because I've changed a major thing in the chapter. The plot is overall the same, but I realized Dean forgiving Cas just like that for ditching him, when Sammy was about to kill himself seemed very out of character, so I've changed that, and that has of course changed the dialogue a bit, too. Please don't kill me!_

_Warnings: Rated T for language (will later be rated M for sexual content) ;D_

_I claim no ownership of nothing but my imagination._

* * *

Chapter Two

They left the bar shortly after. Castiel followed Dean wordlessly to the Impala. He disliked traveling like this, but at least it was better than by foot through the pathless woods Metatron had placed him in.

"Wow, stop right there," Dean said as Castiel opened the door to the passenger seat.

"Am I still supposed to sit in the back seat, even without Sam in the car?" Castiel asked crossed: If this was part of Dean's punishment for making the angels fall, he was just being childish. He deserved to pay for his crimes, but properly.

"No, moron, but you're not allowed to wear that thing inside my baby," Dean gestured towards Castiel's over coat.

Confused Castiel looked down himself, and he realized how dirty and smelly he had become. For a second he tried reaching inwards for his grace to clean himself, but as every other time he had tried to find it throughout the last couple of days, he felt nothing and Castiel's heart clenched with grief. It felt like being hit with an angel blade. Shivering, he took off the coat, dropped it on the ground and once again reached for the door handle.

At that Dean sighed theatrically, moved around the car and picked up the coat, but instantly stretched it away from him, exclaiming: "Ew, what the fuck Cas?! Did you sleep in a sewer?"

"No, a bog."

Dean just looked at him.

A moment later the over coat was in the trunk and Dean threw a duffle bag at Castiel. He caught it and curiously looked inside. Hesitatingly he pulled out a pair of trousers and looked at Dean, who just said: "Change behind the car, so you're covered from the bar," and got into the car.

Dean's cloths were a bit too big for him, but Castiel praised himself lucky that Dean wasn't the size of his brother. It felt weird wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but as the movement was better than in his suit, Castiel quickly adjusted.

They drove in a silence so thick Castiel actually felt uncomfortable.

Unexpectedly Dean broke it: "Where've you been since you and your feathery family fell? You look like shit."

Castile shrank slightly at the deliberate reminder.

"Metatron placed me in the middle of a forest. I moved as fast as I could to the nearest civilization. It took longer than expected, and I had to receive some help along the way in order for my vessel… _body _not to die." Castiel cursed inwardly as he knew Dean had noticed his mistake.

And of course the human interpreted it correctly.

"Not your vessel? What's happened to Jimmy?" Dean spared him a short look, still keeping most of his attention on the road.

Castiel sighed heavily. He hated making confessions to Dean, because it usually was about him having done something he afterwards was not proud of and then Dean would tell him what a "massive dick" he had been, but he guessed he deserved whatever Dean would throw at him.

"When I was under Naomi's control, she feared that being close to a human might make me rebel again, so she made me kill him," Castiel could see Dean's jaw and neck flex.

"And you just did?"

"Yes, she told me he was a threat to Heaven,"

"And you didn't mind at all?"

_Why do you have to torment me so? _"At the time, no, though some part of me knew it was wrong, but I wasn't strong enough to see the truth. Only after you… freed me, have I understood what a terrible crime I have committed. I can never justify killing a man that sacrificed everything to serve God. He was my responsibility._"_

Dean smiled gruffly: "You could kill your own vessel, but not me. Gosh, don't I feel special."

"There's no logical reason why I could not kill you. Naomi had me training for-"

"You were trained to kill me?" This surprised the hunter enough to make him forget his grudge against Castiel, and he finally looked at him properly, stunned.

"Of course. I would never have been able to even hurt you as much as I did without," the ex-angel said guiltily. The blue eyes almost absorbed Dean, and he had to tear his eyes back to the road.

"How long did you train?" he asked quietly.

A picture of thousands of Deans lying dead on a white floor, blood oozing from stab wounds in their torsos flashed before Castiel's eyes.

"For far too long," he murmured. He still remembered how every stab at Dean had felt like a stab to his own flesh. At first he had fought against Naomi, but it wasn't long until he found himself complying her orders, tears in his eyes as he had killed the first handful Deans. But when at last Naomi had walked up behind him looking down at the last Dean he'd killed, and praised his efficiency and said that he was now ready, Castiel had felt empty. He looked at the real Dean sitting beside him and the memory of this Dean gripping his arm tight, looking up at him and calling for him flooded his mind instead. The moment Dean had called him family and told him he needed him.

"Turned out one day in your company gave me strength enough to once again defy my orders," a fond smile found its way to Castiel's lips, "You truly are my weakness – and my strength, Dean Winchester."

At that Dean cleared his throat and moved in his seat, uncomfortably. Castiel watched him struggle to escape what he clearly thought awkward silence.

Finally the green eyes settled on the radio device, and seconds later it was lit. The more or less musical tunes of another song Castiel did not recognize, but of the genre that clearly appealed to Dean, filled the car and pressed against Castiel's eardrums. He had never really given music much thought before, as it had never mattered neither to him nor his missions, but was he supposed to enjoy it now that he was… human? He swallowed at the thought. What did being a human even involve? How did they survive? How high were their durability and their strength? Until now his human form had shown itself inferior in every way to being an angel - depressingly more than expected. He knew humans couldn't fly, but that their ability to run or even move was then not unlimited frustrated Castiel even further.

He had fainted after only 5 hours of running through the forest.

He had probably only survived because of that old man he had met the next morning, who had given him something to drink and eat. It was only when the man had asked; if he had slept in the forest that it dawned on Castiel he had actually been sleeping. For the first time in his thousands years long life he had slept, and he loathed it.

While sleeping you were in no control of anything and completely oblivious to your surroundings and to the time that passed. You were literally unconscious. Though it did happen again the next night, he managed to withstand it until an hour before dawn, leading to him nearly drowning himself in a bog in his tiredness.

And this should be repeated night after night. He had watched the brothers sleep multiple times, but until now he had never fully understood how far away they had been.

The thought that scared him the most about sleeping, though, was that before, he could look out for the brothers while they slept. He could make sure nothing happened to them. Now someone could easily slit Dean's or Sam's throat with Castiel lying right next to them, and he wouldn't find out until he woke up.

Castiel had been tired for hours now. He refused to let himself sleep, though. Not until he could postpone it no more and would collapse, like the previous nights. Maybe if he trained he could get his body used to only a few hours of sleep every second day or maybe less.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Dean began drumming softly on the wheel as a new song began, and Castiel noticed with a small smile he was humming along, too. His friend seemed to have forgotten he was there or maybe he hadn't noticed what he was doing. Either way Castiel found he enjoyed seeing Dean so relaxed and comfortable. Suddenly Dean stopped, sent his passenger a quick glance and straightened in his seat, composing himself.

Castiel didn't look away from Dean, silently hoping he would do it again.

"What?" Dean asked after a moment under the fallen angel's silent gaze, annoyance back in his voice.

Castiel just smiled at the slightly flushed man; "Don't stop because of me."

Dean's eyes flashed to Castiel. He cursed under his breath and shook his head.

A yawn finally managed to push itself out of Castiel, and he found himself stretching in his seat. The warmth of the car and the new, quieter song seemed to try to force Castiel's subconsciousness to surrender to his tiredness.

"How long until we arrive?" he asked drowsily, fighting to brush it off.

Dean looked at him, understanding evident in his eyes.

"There's still two hours left. Just go to sleep,"

Castiel wondered why Dean seemed so concerned for his well being all of a sudden. "I don't need to sleep."

"Cas, you're not an angel anymore, you need sleep."

Maybe Dean found his company strenuous?

"I refuse to."

"Why?" the hunter asked tiredly.

His passenger hesitated. He knew his reason would seem idiotic to Dean, "I don't like being unconscious." As the words left his mouth he could hear exactly how stupid and childish he sounded, "I wouldn't be able to prevent if something happened." _I wouldn't be able to protect you._

"Nothing's gonna happen, Cas," Dean said, still annoyed with him, but there were also a spark of reassurance in his voice, and Castiel could almost hear the unspoken _I'm here_.

Blue eyes were boring into the side of Dean's skull, but they finally closed and Castiel's head tilted towards his shoulder.

…

As Dean put the Impala to a hold, the sleeping man in the passenger seat woke up with a jump. They'd parked outside the bunker. Once again he was baffled by the speed which with time flew when he was sleeping. Wordlessly they moved into the underground lair.

Kevin's head shot up as Dean stepped into the library.

"Dean. Jesus, where have you been?"

Dean didn't manage to answer before Castiel stepped in behind him, looking around the room with familiareyes. Though he hadn't lived long in the bunker before his fall, the mere sight of his only two friends looking safer and more comfortable than ever and all their stuff casually lying around had made the place into more than just a hideout.

Castiel instantly noted that the young Asian had now joined his research work to Sam's in what had more that less turned into their study.

When his eyes finally rested on Kevin, the prophet seemed suspicious, and -despite his efforts to hide it- quite nervous. Castiel's brows furrowed as he contemplating stared at the boy.

"Your mistrust is unfounded. I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me," he stated, holding his hands up in what he knew was a sign of non-aggression.

Kevin was apparently not reassured: "Yeah, I bet, unless I'm not able to reread an entire tablet in a few hours,"

Castiel suddenly understood Kevin's hostility towards him. Last time they met he had pushed him against a wall, threatening him to read the angel tablet again.

"You were being unreasonable and selfish. You held the fate of everyone in your hands and you refused to help u-"

"I did not refuse to help you. What you demanded was just insane!" Kevin shrieked defensively.

"Shut your fucking cakeholes! Both of you." Dean bellowed, making Kevin shrink a bit, but Castiel didn't even blink as Dean's angry eyes gleamed at him.

After a few seconds Dean's resolution seemed to falter and he cast his eyes downwards, suddenly looking a bit… lost? He seemed to shift between hating the ex-angel and being humble towards him. Castiel stared at him, trying to solve the new mystery, but as Dean opened his mouth to speak again, footsteps were suddenly hearable from the hall at the other end of the room.

Sam entered the library, rubbing a hand across his eyes, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans that he seemingly had pulled on in haste. He had clearly just woken up.

"Can you just-" he started but then removed his hand and finally looked at the gathering. "Cas." He exclaimed.

"Hello Sam,"

"How did you- I mean- What happened? We thought you were dead,"

Castiel glanced at Dean, who didn't meet his eye, and then with a sight began retelling his last couple of days. They sat down as he explained. He also told about the woman behind the counter at the bar, who had charged his phone for him, and added: "She told me she'd given me my number, if I needed help with anything else," This made Sam laugh spontaneously and Dean snorted with an upward twist of his lips.

When he was done, Sam said: "You must be exhausted."

"I've had a few hours of sleep today, I should be fine," he lied, not meeting the eyes of his friend.

"Oh come on," Dean complained, making a face. They turned to him, "Don't treat him like that, Sam,"

"Like what? A friend?" Sam seemed to instantly know what Dean was on about, and determined to not give his brother what he wanted.

"Yes," Dean's eyes flashed.

"But he is, Dean, okay. So just forget about your bitching for a moment and treat him like one,"

"I don't need-" Castiel began, but was instantly cut off by Dean.

"Friends are not supposed to ditch each other like that," Dean now looked directly at Castiel. The spark in his eyes had flamed up to a fire, "You fucking left, Cas. Again, and you only return because you have nowhere else to go. Because you need us to sweep your mess! But guess what; I couldn't give less of a fuck if Metatron ate every freaking soul in Heaven. That's your responsibility! Not ours!"

"What?" Sam stared at his brother, shock in his eyes.

Castiel didn't know how to react: He knew Dean was angry with him for making the angels fall, but he seemed even more furious about the fact that Castiel had left him. Now that he thought about it that always seemed to anger Dean more than anything else he'd done. Last time Dean was angry with Castiel, Castiel had lost the angel tablet, but the human had seemed angrier about the fact that Castiel had not turned to the brothers for help sooner. He had felt betrayed by Castiel. No one had ever counted on him or trusted him so much on a personal level before. Why did Dean?

"What did you mean regarding Metatron, Dean? Is he still in Heaven?" Sam asked urgently, looking back and forth between them.

Dean scowled at his younger brother, displeased with the interruption.

"Yes, we believe he is," Castiel answered quietly, "As I told you, it was a spell he made and not trials, so I suspect he made it so he was not affected." He tried to ignore the way Dean just stared at the carpet, mouth pressed into a thin line and hands clenched at his sides.

"That's not good, right? I mean, you said he could take control of the souls,"

"Yes, if Metatron's alone in Heaven he holds all the power it possesses. Therefore as I've told Dean, we have to remove him," Castiel pressed on.

"Okay," Sam just said. Castiel was struck silent with awe at the simplicity of Sam's friendship, smiling softly. The fallen angel's betrayal had maybe been even greater towards Sam, but the tall hunter seemed to forgive him so easily. Nothing was ever so simple with Dean.

"We have another problem, Sam," Dean said. He looked almost nervous, not looking directly at his brother. Sam furrowed his brows, knowing something was wrong.

The fallen angel eyed him silently. He could easily see the interior struggle Dean had, not knowing how to tell his brother what Kevin had told him earlier. The prophet himself seemed to not know if he should help Dean and deliver the bad news himself.

"You're dying, Sammy," Dean said at last.

"What?" Disbelieved Sam stared at his pained brother.

"Kevin found out about it earlier this night; apparently you're sick, and only the purest angel can save you." Castiel added. At first Sam looked a bit reassured, but as he remembered the latest incident, his eyes got round and his mouth a bit slack.

"That's why we need Metatron alive. He is the only angel left, and the only one that can help you – we hope,"

Kevin looked thoughtfully at Castiel; "That's worth a try, I guess."

"You don't know if it will work?" Sam asked worriedly.

Kevin merely shrugged apologetic.

"How long do I have?"

"I didn't say on the tablet. I think it's different from person to person. How strong you are mentally,"

"Mentally?" Sam spurted. "What kind of illness is this?"

"It's not a medical illness," Castiel explained, "images conjured by Hell will slowly drive you insane and thus rip your soul from your body," Dean sent him a haunted look.

"So a mental Hell will drive me nuts, and drag my soul… to Hell?"

"No," said Dean defiantly, "I will not let that happen, you know that, Sammy."

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but something about Deans resolution seemed to calm him.

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you know how to get into Heaven?" Kevin asked, looking round at them.

None of them said anything. Sam looked thoughtfully ahead, his arms resting at the great oak table, flicking a pen between his fingers. Castiel just looked at Dean; the man was exhausted, and even that made the newcomer feel guilty. Dean seemed to sense his gaze, for he suddenly returned it. His face became completely impassive, not giving anything away anymore. Castiel knew that whatever he said to apologize would not be good enough, but he'd be damned if he at least didn't try.

"Dean, I truly am sorry - for leaving you,"

Something shifted in the green gaze; if it was a good or a bad sign Castiel could not tell.

The contact broke when Sam cleared his throat and got up from his chair, gaining their attention.

"I won't drop dead tonight, so I think it's better if we just go to bed," the tall Winchester said, "Cas, you can take the same room as before."

Dean looked reluctant but got up anyway. They left the library.

"Hey," Dean said, turning to Castiel. The shorter man looked at him quizzically, "you should take a shower. Third door on your left. Towels under the sink."

And with that and a nod to his brother Dean went to his room, closing the door behind him. Castiel, Sam and Kevin looked after him. Only after the door closed, did Sam quietly say: "He'll come around soon enough," he looked Castiel up and down and added with a grin that didn't truly reach his eyes: "but he's right, you know. You'll ruin your bed if you don't."

A few minutes later Castiel stood in the bathroom and stripped out of Dean's clothes. The reflection in the mirror above the sink caught his attention. Curiously he slowly turned around in front of it, examining the bruised and smeared up body. It suddenly occurred to him that it was his body now. The enormous, powerful angel, the warrior of God, the protector of Earth and Heaven he had always been was now gone. He was no more than what could be seen there on the wall. The acknowledgment tore at him, and he had to squeeze the sink tightly to suppress the ache in his chest and throat, sobbing a few times before he finally managed to control his shaking body. He looked up again; meting the stare of his own sunken eyes. He moved a hand across his newly grown beard covering the lower half of his face, making him look ragged, before he moved it to his greasy hair and plugged out a twig. Considering, he rolled it between two fingers for a bit, before dropping it in the sink and rummaging through the cupboards. He soon found shaving equipment. He had never done this before, but he had seen Dean do it multiple times the year he had lived with Lisa. With care he shaved himself. It pricked a little.

He gave his body one last reluctant look - eyeing the relatively insignificant muscles of his chest and arms, before he moved to the shower.

10 minutes later he wrapped a towel around his waist, collected his things and moved to his room. He lay down chest first on the floor - his toes pressed into the carpet and placed his hands beside his shoulders. Carefully slowly he pressed his hands down, lifting himself from the ground. When his arms were fully stretched, he slowly sank back down till his chest almost touched the ground. Then he repeated the movement. He counted 18 before his arms stopped obeying him. He finally went to bed, the knowledge that he would not let himself become useless, calming him.

* * *

_There you go, hope you liked it. :D_

_I'm not sure how often you expect this updated, but my excuse if you think this chapter has taken me too long, is that I'm currently planning to move to another country (requires a lot of my attention) and I'm on holiday in Italy and our wi-fi is… well, non-existing. I'm sitting on someone else's doorstep right now._


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: This might be a bit messy, as I'm leaving tomorrow and wanted to update it before I go. Also, as I'm moving next week, it might take me a bit longer to write next chapter._

_Warnings: The usual_

_I do not own the characters._

_ALLONS-Y!_

* * *

Chapter Three

Dean placed a hot cup of coffee in front of his brother. The now way too long-haired man put down his newspaper and picked it up with a small '_thanks'_, pulling his computer towards him in the process.

Dean seated himself at the other side of the table, looking at Sam's fingers flying across the keyboard absentminded, still a bit groggy from sleep. It was almost 10 in the morning. Since they had moved into the bunker, he had slowly allowed himself to get used to the luxury of lying in whenever they didn't have a case. This place had become the closest thing they had ever had to a home; it might even have passed his car. A hybrid between a smile and a frown appeared on his face at the thought. Poor, neglected Baby. Maybe he could use the day to tend to her a bit.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Sam pushed the paper across the table with an eager expression. "I think I've found us a new case."

Curiously Dean leaned across the paper and studied the article his brother pointed out for him. Apparently a freight train had crashed into a passenger train, killing 39 people.

Dean looked up. "Doesn't sound like our kind of thing," he noted, "Besides we should be looking for a way into Heaven, not hunting."

Sam pulled the paper back with a shrug; "I know, but usually, we do not just find what we are looking for by doing nothing but looking. Of course we'll keep searching for it, I'm not going to ignore what you guys told me last night," he quickly added at his brother's glare. "I'm not just gonna **lie/lay?** down and die, Dean. Relax."

"Sam, you know I can't relax when it comes to things like this! For all we know you could drop dead any minute. Finding that way into Heaven is first priority," Dean determined. Sam just leaned back with his usual Dean-doesn't-understand-so-I-have-to-explain-face, and Dean's features hardened as he prepared for the oncoming **speech**.

"Dean, it's an infection, and Cas said it would evolve slowly. Don't you think I'll at least have symptoms before anything extreme happens?" At the impassive stare he received from his not-the-slightest-convinced-brother, Sam quickly continued: "When you sold your soul to save me, and we needed to find a way out of the deal for you, we did all kinds of jobs on the sideline, too."

"Then we had a whole year to figure something out, and you know what; we failed. I died and went to Hell, and I'm not gonna let that happen to you, not again," Dean snapped, trying to shy away the pain, he could feel in his eyes as well as see on his brother's face.

"You have a point, Dean," came Castiel's grave voice suddenly from right behind him.

The hunter jumped a little in his chair, spilling coffee over his hands and the table, swearing at the pain and shouting: "For Christ sake, Cas, stop sneaking up on me!" He wiped his fingers in his jeans, glaring at the intruder. Castiel had shaved and showered, and it was almost possible to take him for one of 30, if it hadn't been for the worn out look on his face and the bottomless depth of knowledge in his eyes. In other words; he almost looked like his old self, despite he still was wearing the clothes he had borrowed from Dean last night. It was odd seeing the always so serious man dressed so casually.

At the scolding Castiel had cast down his eyes and smiled lightly.

Dean threw Sam a weird look at the behavior, but his brother just gave a confused shrug back, so Dean was forced to ask.

"What?"

"It just in a way gladdens me that I'm still able to surprise you- …" Castiel began to explain but quickly trailed off as he saw Dean's expression, silently begging him to stop talking. At the other side of the table Sam pressed his lips hard together to fight his smile.

"What do you want, Cas?" Dean asked harshly looking at Castiel's hands instead of his face, hoping the change of subject would suffocate his brother's annoying face.

Castiel immediately turned serious again. "I was just saying that you have a point about the door to Heaven being first priority," Dean looked up. Right, he had totally forgotten about Castiel's reason for getting back up there. "But-" Castiel continued, "- these Men of Letters knew nothing of Heaven. There's nothing about the subject in this library, so there' no point staying here while searching for an answer."

"It wouldn't make the research any easier being out there hunting at the same time," Dean snapped, angry that Castiel had suddenly taken his brother's side. He was supposed to be Dean's angel, or some shit. At least once he was.

"There's nothing useful down here. We will only slow ourselves down." Castiel was unyielding.

"We never ignore cases like this. It's what we do; we save people, hunt things," Sam pressed from Dean's other side. The oldest Winchester easily recognized his own slightly changed words from so many years ago, when he had tried to convince Sam to stay with him and search for their dad.

"What case? It's a fucking derailment, nothing more."

"That's what I thought at first too, but then I noticed the article mentioned something about this happening only a week after some electrician died as he was out trying to fix a rail light," Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

"So what are you saying? That we're just gonna leave?"

"We are not leaving forever," Sam brushed off, clearly disliking the thought himself, "We are just gonna take on the cases we cross, alongside looking for a way."

Dean looked between Castiel and Sam, not believing what he was hearing. Yes, they had managed that kind of thing before, but this was different. It was more important. At least to Dean it was. He had just sacrificed the lock down of Hell to keep his brother alive and now he was supposed to just gamble with his life?

The two other men jumped as he slammed his fist into the table.

"Damn!" he swore loudly. None spoke, but as Dean looked up he caught Castiel's eyes and something inside him snapped. Everything was that fallen idiot's fault. In a second he was up, standing threateningly close to Castiel. He did not flinch away, as Dean had hoped, frustrating him even further and he almost spat: "First you leave Sam to die as if he is nothing to you, and now you support his suicide mission. Are you trying to get him killed, Cas?" The blue eyes just looked lost at Dean, confusion and shame smeared across them and it gave Dean a grim sort of satisfaction, "if you had just stayed the angels wouldn't have fallen. We could have found the purest feathery ass up there and we could have cured Sam, but you had to run off and ruin everything, like you always do!"

Dean had always been a man for saying what he meant and standing by it. But sometimes he just went a bit too far, sometimes when he was angry he exaggerated and the truth got lost in the anger, he vented. This was one of those times, and he knew it the second the ringing words faded through the large halls.

And Castiel just stood there and took it; he ate every word Dean fed him and he believed it. Why would he not at least defend himself, so Dean wouldn't feel like hitting a child? He knew Castiel did not solely hold the responsibility for any of the things he had accused him of, but none of them said that, and so Dean kept hold of that chance he had just had to throw his own guilt and anger onto his friend. Though something in Dean objected to his treatment of Castiel, he ignored it, saying to himself that maybe Castiel hadn't ruined everything one handedly, but he had played his part, and he should not expect to have that forgiven easily.

Castiel opened and closed his mouth, clearly at a loss of words.

"Dean, I… I regret nothing more than the second I chose to leave you. I would give everything to change that. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness or even any kindness. I…" Castiel's lips seemed to shiver and his eyes dropped from Dean's, "I should never have come."

Something cold knotted in the hunter's stomach.

"Don't even dare thinking about leaving again, Cas. Don't you even dare."

As soon as the hoarse words were said, Dean gave his brother a look that clearly stated that the discussion wasn't over and left the room hurriedly. Castiel stood left behind with furrowed brows, desperately trying to understand the last words correctly.

…

The gravel crunched beneath Sam's feet, warning Dean of his approach. He glanced quickly out from under the hood, as the tall man seated himself on a stone hedge beside the Impala and observed him.

"Dean," he finally sighed, "why are you doing this to him?"

"Doing what?" Dean asked indifferently as he straightened himself. He quickly cleaned his hands in an already oil stained cloth before rummaging the toolbox noisily for a wrench.

"Treating Cas like shit. I want it to stop,"

Finally Dean looked up, "Sam, you know what he's done, more than anyone, you know."

"Yes, but I also know why Dean. I forgive him all the crab he's done, because I actually don't overlook everything but the end result. Why can't you do the same? How can you be so caught up in being angry that you refuse to move on? No, Dean," Sam interrupted him, before he had even had the chance to utter one word. "That angel has given everything for us, but when he stops to save his own family, you start bitching like an over-attached girlfriend. It was his family, Dean; you would have left him, too, if I were on the line."

Dean stared the toolbox down, barely moving as he turned Sam's words over in his head. He had thought of it all before; he knew exactly every attack against and every defense of Castiel. Every time a reason to be mad at him had occurred to Dean, a reason to forgive him was soon to follow, so why could he not just forgive him?

"He doesn't owe us anything," Sam finished calmly.

Dean looked back at the engine without really seeing it, thoughtfully pointing his lips.

"But why do you want to leave?" he finally asked dejectedly and met his brothers examining eyes.

Sam sighed: "Because, Dean, we can't just stay put and wait for us to magically find a way into Heaven. I simply don't believe we can find anything useful here, so we might as well be out there searching in the real world."

After a moment of silence Dean once again leaned over his car.

"We could just kill ourselves, and hope we've been good boys this year and go to Heaven," he joked after another minute of silence.

"After what we did three years ago, I think we're banned from that place for all eternity. Besides, I've already booked a suit in the warm south," Sam smiled tiredly.

Dean gave him a worried look. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," was all he got. With a bitter taste in his mouth, Dean remembered how only a few months ago Sam had lied to Dean about how sick the trials had made him. If his brother wanted to get back out in the field again, there had to be certain conditions.

"Sam, if we do this; leave the bunker and start hunting again, you must promise me to tell me everything. I need to know if anything changes."

There was an unnerving moment of silence. "I will, and thank you, Dean. I really think this' the best shot we got." After a short hesitation he added: "When you wanna hear more about the train accident I'll be inside." He was about to leave.

"So how are you doing, Sammy?"

Sam smiled reassuringly: "Dean, seriously, I'm fine. Nothing's happened yet."

With brows furrowed in apprehension Dean looked after his brother as he went back inside. If he found out Sam was hiding anything from him again, he would tie him up like a pig and drag him home.

As he went back inside, he found the others where he'd left them; Castiel was seated in Dean's previous chair, now, starring at a fresh cup of coffee in his hands, looking like he was having a telepathic conversation with it. A plate of scrambled eggs and bacon stood beside it. Kevin had woken up, and sat a few chairs right from Sam, scoffing down his own breakfast while reading the neglected newspaper. Sam was working on his computer again, but looked up as his brother entered.

"Shall we begin," he just asked, and Dean gave him a nod.

"Okay," Sam turned his computer so both he and Castiel could see from where they were seated and Dean placed himself at the head of the table between them. He sent Castiel a reluctant look, "so yesterday a train crashed into another train and 39 people got killed. It says in the paper that the engine driver of the goods train, Steve Haming, had a stroke and that the alerter - a button you have to push every few minutes so, or else the train stops - had malfunctioned, so the train continued, passed a red rail light and drove right in front of the passenger train." Dean nodded, indicating he followed so far. "But get this; in the police report it says that Steve didn't have a stroke. He died from a snapped neck before the train even crashed. There's no sign of bruises on the skin that would normally appear if someone broke your neck or it happened by accident. No bruises anywhere, at least not from before the crash. It's like he just stood there and suddenly his neck snapped." Sam gave Dean a knowing look, before changing the page on the computer, so they were now looking at an older article, "But Steve drove this exact same train last week, where he hit and killed the electrician, Boris, while he was out trying to fix the rail light. According to Steve, he didn't get the memo that the light was to be fixed, so he didn't know he was not supposed to drive." Sam leaned back and looked at them expectantly, mostly at Dean.

"Yep, sounds like our kind of weird now," said Dean, with an almost impressed expression, "how far away is it?"

Sam clicked around the screen a few times. "Uhm, I would say - about 7 hours."

"Make that 6," Dean said instantly with a cheeky grin. Sam gave him a disapproving look in jest, obviously relieved Dean didn't seem mad anymore.

"Time to suit up," the big brother stated, and all three rose simultaneously. Dean just slowly turned to Castiel. The shorter man didn't seem surprised at the unfriendly attention, merely looking back at him, awaiting his next words.

"Are you expecting to come with us?"

"Yes, I want to help,"

"How? You're practically incapacitated without your powers,"

"I know how to fight, Dean," Castiel snarled back, "I've fought under God for thousands of years and I've been the commander of a garrison. I may no longer be an angel, but I'm still a soldier."

Dean had to look away from the blazing anger in the blue eyes. He remembered that though Castiel was not an angel anymore, he was still an angel of mind and memory. This "man" before him had still lived longer than the earth had existed, and he was damn good at close combat, Dean had to admit. He pouted in consideration.

"Fine, you can come," he decided brusquely, "but come with me first."

After a moments deliberation Castiel followed suspiciously, Sam right at his heel. Dean led them a storey down to the shooting range and placed his own Colt 1911 on the shelf before the range. Castiel gave the weapon an examining look before turning his unreadable attention to Dean.

"Load it," Dean instructed calmly, and Castiel picked it up wordlessly and loaded it with quick, precise hands. "Now shoot."

Dean took a step back, as the armed man raised the gun and took aim at the black paper figure 25 yards away. Dean could see the finger tighten around the trigger, but nothing happened.

"You need to release the safety catch first," the hunter added, quirking a lip in amusement.

"I don't know how to do that on a gun," Castiel mumbled, clearly frustrated and embarrassed, "I've only ever fired a shotgun."

Dean sucked on his tongue, fighting down the little demon inside him that wanted to mock the dark-haired man. He needed to keep this professional. The hunter stepped forward again and took the gun back. Patiently he showed Castiel how it was done and afterwards went on to teach him how to aim, what to aim for –depending on the opponent, and what to do with the gun, when you were not firing it. He demonstrated along the way, and Castiel followed his every move with intense concentration.

Dean handed the gun back. At the first few shots Castiel completely missed the target, and Dean put a hand on his arm, indicating for him to hold his fire.

"Try supporting your right hand with your left hand."

Dean suddenly noticed how his aversion towards Castiel had faded, as he had practiced with him, how doing something so simple as this worked like a therapy, for both of them it seemed.

Castiel cast him a fleeting glance, before moving his left hand, which had previously been an extra layer over the right one, below the handle of the gun.

It helped, and though Castiel clearly wasn't born a good shot, a magazine later he had become a decent one, almost hitting the cardboard with every shot. As Dean had talked, he had remembered when his dad had first taught him how to shoot: He noted that he hadn't been any better than Castiel was now. He had had problems with aiming properly for longer than 10 seconds at a time. In Dean's defense he had only been 9 - maybe 8 years old, and the gun had been heavy. His dad had been so patient with him, and they had spent so much time together. Dean remembered how proud he had been that he was old enough to shoot a gun, and how invincible he had felt as he made his first "good" shot, and John had patted him on the should. He smiled as he watched Castiel hit the target in the lower ribs, knowing he had without intending it, and without Castiel yet knowing it, become his tutor. Behind them Sam stood in the doorway, silently watching the two of them; probably making sure Dean didn't shower Castiel in insults again. Their eyes met briefly, before Dean turned his attention back to the shooting man.

"It's empty," Castiel muttered shortly after, handing the gun back to Dean, still eyeing his work.

"Guess it's as good as it's gonna get… for now." Dean remarked, giving the pullet pierced cardboard one last glance, before he and Sam went to find some fresh magazines of iron bullets and rock salt. Dean also grabbed another handgun.

"Here, you might gonna need it," he handed the weapon to Castiel, who took it, looking wonderingly at Dean.

As they entered the foyer, Sam turned to Castiel. "DO you have anything else to wear?" He gave the short man's clothes an assessing look.

"I think my suit might still be in the trunk," Castiel suggested, but Dean just raised his brows high.

"Yeah… that won't do," he settled.

"So what then?" Castiel asked gravely.

Sam gave Dean that damn sassy, knowing look of his, and Dean sighed dramatically: "Fine. Cas, you can borrow from me."

As Dean opened his closet and rummaged it through for an extra suit, that might fit the slightly smaller man, Castiel looked around his room, curiously. Dean watched him out of the corner of his eye, but when Castiel returned his attention to him, he pretended he hadn't. He pulled out a set and threw it at the unprepared man, who caught it nonetheless. Dean put his own on the bed and prepared to change. He looked expectantly at the other man. He didn't seem to catch the hint, though, and just kept staring at Dean.

"Cas," Dean began slowly, but Castiel cut him off.

"I don't understand, Dean. Why are you treating me like your friend?"

Dean winced inside at the wording; apparently Castiel didn't think he was Dean's friend anymore. If he didn't, Dean could not blame him. He hadn't exactly treated him like one recently. But neither had Castiel Dean when he had left him. He furrowed his brows, not knowing what to say, as the truth was that Sam had forced him to.

"Though you acted like a massive dick and flapped off, it doesn't change the fact that you're still a part of this family," Dean finally said, holding Castiel's eye a bit longer than necessary. At first he couldn't read anything of his friends face, but finally something seemed to crumble inside Castiel, and he lowered his gaze.

"I shouldn't be," he simply said and was about to maneuver around Dean to the door, but before he got far he was pushed sideways against the wall.

"You listen to me, and you listen carefully," Dean hissed, "There's no redemption in real life, Cas, there's no punishment that can clean you of your sins, so stop seeing every bad thing that happens to you as punishments, and every good thing as undeserved. You are part of this family whether you think you deserve it or not. Stop whining, accept your fuck-up like a man and get over it. I refuse to lose you again because you don't think you deserve to be saved."

There was a pause as Castiel's eyes lost their fighting spark, and he just looked so lost and sorrowful. A ghostly smile touched his lips. "I now understand your aversion of being saved from Hell, Dean."

With his hands still fisting the hem of the other's tshirt, Dean looked blankly back and forth between the pair of blue eyes, but then he remembered the night they had first met, and how Castiel had read the self-loathing on his soul.

The hands slowly uncurled and dropped. None of them moved for an indeterminable span of time, but as Dean blinked Castiel disappeared through the door, and left the hunter gazing blankly at the wall instead.

With a sudden outburst of anger Dean threw his suit through the room. _Stupid, proud, self-torturing idiot!_ Dean exhaled shakily, forcing the tension out of his muscles. Looking vacantly at the rumbled clothes on the floor, he wondered what had happened; he had suddenly defended the accident-prone man instead of being angry with him, as he in a way felt he was still supposed to. What was Cas playing at? As he changed into a federal agent Dean added _manipulating_ to the list of pain-in-the-ass things Castiel was.

* * *

_(Am I adding too many details to the story? What are you thinking so far? __Anything you would like me to include?)_


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: So here it finally is. I've had so much going on this last month (moving to London, etc.), so I simply haven't had the time, and besides this chapter turned out to be a bitch to write. Sorry for keeping you waiting and thank you for your patience! Hope next chapter will be up faster :)_

_Warnings: Rated T for language (will later be rated M for sexual content)_

_I claim no ownership of anything but my imagination._

_ALLONS-Y_

* * *

Chapter Four

"I'm special agent Williams, these are my partners; special agents Phelps and Jackson. We would like to ask you a few questions."

Those words were spoken often that day as they moved around the jungle of officers, relatives, witnesses, and survivors from the crash. Castiel mostly just followed the two others, not saying much unless he was forced to, or he found it appropriate. The brothers seemed content with that, probably also remembering the time Castiel was "the bad cop". So now he did what Dean had suggested him to back then; he surveyed, as they talked to everyone that might seem to know just the slightest about the killed electrician or the train driver.

They had arrived at the town the night before, after an agonizingly long drive of 7 hours, despite Dean's promise of being able to make it faster. Though Castiel only found it annoying, it seemed to humor Sam in a jesting sort of way for some reason. Throughout the drive Sam had spent the time he wasn't driving on researching on his phone and scuffling around papers. A few papers slid down Sam's lap. He automatically leaned forward to pick them up, shifting his legs to the left, resulting in the rest of the papers sliding over the gearshift and pooling around Dean's feet. Dean swore loudly. "Damnit, Sam, control your freaking paper hell over there!"

The wheels had fretted against the asphalt, as Dean pulled over.

"Sorry," Sam apologized while he franticly tried to collect it all again.

But after that Sam had not put the papers away, though, which quickly turned out to be a mistake. A bored sigh had called Castiel's attention to Dean. He watched as the eldest Winchester began glancing at his brother, a childlike smile fighting to take over his face. Once he even glanced back at Castiel and grinned, though he didn't seem to be looking directly at him. He glanced at Sam one last time and whatever fight that had taken place in his head got settled. Dean suddenly opened his window wide, welcoming the wind to soar through the car and out through the fist broad slit in the window beside Castiel. The papers immediately took wing and for a odd period of time it felt like someone had let 20 doves free in the car. Sam screamed at Dean, and Dean started crying with laughter. He was forced to pull over once again. Sam drove the rest of the way.

Castiel had had plenty of time to repeat his encounter with Dean that day: From the training session to the wall-slamming in Dean's room and Dean's words. He repeated them over and over again in his head; how Dean had told him he couldn't redeem himself through self-punishment, and that being accepted in this family wasn't undeserved – which were contrary to Dean's behavior towards him up until then. Despite his latest words of good will, Castiel knew Dean was still mad at him. He hadn't looked him straight in the eye since their conversation, and he had barely spoken to him during the drive, but he hadn't resumed his hostile behavior either, and the outburst had proven that Dean would probably forgive him over time. _My mind is just as messed up as the situation._ The big brother's silence towards him made him uneasy. Under normal circumstances, Dean would have picked on him from time to time, jestingly pointing out what an ignoramus Castiel could be, and Dean wouldn't be afraid to look at him. _Normal circumstances,_ Castile pondered over the choice of words. When had things last been normal between them? Castiel would just wish for this to be over soon. This dead zone where he was neither forgiven nor hated. He missed being close to Dean, he admitted to himself.

They arrived at the town around 7 pm and rented a room at a cheap motel called the Sleeping Rose, which apparently insisted on having flowers on every fabric to be found inside the building. Dean had moaned loudly in dismay as they had entered their room and were able to survey the flower stained couch, bed linens, towels and curtains. Castiel settled for a night on the couch as this motel didn't have rooms with three single beds. None of the Winchester's even suggested Castiel could just rent a solo for himself, which warmed him for some reason. The next day they set out to investigate on the scene of the accident. As it had only been two days since the crash and it wasn't a main rail track, the trains were still on the tracks - as well as scattered around them. The place had been swarming with technicians and policemen; all trying to figure out the cause of the accident themselves. The small party had searched the pitiful remains of the train cab, and had found no tangible evidence of use, but when Dean had pulled out his EMF meter it had gone crazy. Convinced that spiritual activity had taken place there, they had begun their routine questioning.

It all went agonizingly slow it seemed, until they met up with an officer named Hay at the police station. Officer Hay was a slim yet strong looking, middle-aged, black man, about Castiel's hight. His expression was soft, unlike most men in this business. The only tell of a life filled with rough experiences and tough decisions was the heavy wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead, which made him look older than he probably was. Through him, they discovered that the electrician, Boris McGorn had been well known for his violent behavior.

Hay sighed as he told them that 20 years ago Boris McGorn had beaten his wife to death. Hay himself had been quite new in the job at the time. He had been present as they had stormed the house after receiving worried phone calls from neighbors, who had heard screams. McGorn had been in prison for the last 19 years, but it hadn't exactly cured him of his violence, as he only a few months ago had gotten into a fight with two other men, according to the officer. "And the lucky bastard only had his gold tooth knocked out." He shook his head with sorrowful eyes. "I know not to get personally involved in cases, but if you had been there that day. If you had seen the things I he had done to that poor woman, you would agree that that man was a monster walking among us."

Castiel could easily feel the contempt oozing from Dean and Sam towards this Boris, and as he stood there; hands clasped behind his back and eyes squinting at the officer, he contemplated humanity's penchant for barbarian violence. He glanced at his partners; the two deadliest humans he had ever met. They had both killed far more than this '_Boris_', and done far more gruesome things, but Castiel knew it was different. They were fighting for the right cause, and they both held goodness in their souls. There had been times in the past where Castiel had doubted his decision to take the brothers' side in the holy war, but he had always been able to just look at Dean; at his soul, and then know he was doing the right thing. That they were doing the right thing. Now he couldn't see their souls anymore, only their carnal bodies, but by now Castiel fully believed in them. In everything they were and stood for.

"And this man, this McGorn would you happen to know where he is buried?" Dean's face was a professional mask, perfected through years of practice.

"Oh, he wasn't buried, though. He was cremated." Officer Hay supplied.

"Cremated," Dean repeated with a tight smile at his brother, who returned it just as strained.

"And when was he cremated?" Sam asked, obviously hoping it had been as recent as today, meaning the crematorium would have done their job for them.

The officer shrugged, "About three days ago, I believe. I'm not quite sure. You'll have to ask someone else for a precise answer. Maybe the paramedics?"

A low rumble erupted from Castiel's insides, interrupting the interview. Surprised Castiel bowed his neck to look at the suddenly very independent unit of his body. For a moment it felt like it had come to life, his insides twisting oddly on themselves. Sam and Dean turned simultaneously and followed Castiel's puzzled look to his still growling stomach.

"Right," Sam concluded, turning back to the other man, "I think that's all we need for now. Thank you, officer."

They exchanged small nods before parting, and the three suited men exited the building, heading back towards the black Impala.

"Your thoughts so far, Sammy?" Dean squinted at the cars passing by, looking troubled.

"I still think it's the very vengeful ghost of Brian. I guess it must have just attached itself to something else."

Dean agreed with a low '_hm_'.

They stopped by the road, waiting till there were no more oncoming cars before crossing.

"Does it not normally take years of solitude and refusal to acknowledge its death to make a spirit angry enough to commit murder?" Castiel inquired, as they surrounded the Impala. He had headed for the backseat, but stopped with his hand on the handle, looking across the roof at Sam, as he replied.

"In most cases, yes," Sam confirmed, opening the passenger door, "but this guy was already a prime psychopath while alive."

"Less talking - more getting your lazy asses in the car." Dean complained loudly from the driver's seat, where he was already seated, keys in the ignition, "It's long past lunch time and I'm starving."

Castiel's stomach gave another painful tuck at the mention of lunch, and he quickly got inside. As Dean turned in his seat to back the car out of its parking spot, he briefly looked at Castiel. Their eyes locked for the first time in what felt like centuries. It was a fleeting contact. Dean swallowed, looked lost, but the next second he was staring out the rear window again, nothing to be read on his face. Castiel submitted to looking at the seat in front of him instead, pulling his mouth slightly in frustration.

After the tediously long drive to the town, the ride to the local diner, called The Place felt like a flap of the wings. The small parking lot accompanying the diner was slightly packed, which, according to Dean, was a good thing: "Only quality attracts so many locals," he proclaimed. Castiel merely saw it as an unpleasant sign of a lot of people crammed together in a small space.

They sat down at a small, unoccupied table by the window: Castiel next to Dean on the slightly too short bench, which forced them to sit shoulder to shoulder. Dean made up for that by leaning forward across the table, talking with Sam about their representative diets.

"Man, how can you survive on vegetables? Everything you eat has zero energy. Why do you willingly torture yourself?"

"I'm just looking out for myself, Dean, as should you. With your eating habits you're more likely to die from a clot than a hunt."

"At least my "eating habits" keeps my blood sugar high enough to not sound like a grumpy bitch."

"Jerk."

Castiel shifted his focus from the two quarreling brothers and squinted at the printed display of the diner's dishes above the counter. He instantly noted they had burgers. He hadn't had one of those in years.

"Hey, boys. What can I do for you?"

Dean looked up, and at the sight of the waitress a charming smile immediately spread across his face. "Well, hello,"

Like a copy of a masterpiece could easily fool the common viewer, a man who had studied the painting his whole life would immediately be able to tell it was not the original, and right now Castiel looked at Dean and only saw a copy of his sincere smile. The spark in the man's eyes gave only a feeble taste of the light that would beam from him whenever he was truly happy. Castiel wallowed in the sight for a moment, an indefinable sorrow collecting at the core of his being, as he realized it had been a long time since he had last seen Dean smile sincerely.

"I'll have a Burger Special," Castiel cut in indifferently to answer the woman's question. As Sam then took over and ordered his food, Castiel noticed out the corner of his eye Dean was looking at him, unblinking.

He met the hard stare with a puzzled frown. Dean mouthed: _Dude, what the hell? _and made a small but hard gesture with his arms, only meant for Castiel to see.

As Castiel was not quite sure what he had done, he dared to voice the question aloud: "What's wrong?" Dean flinched and glared at him even harder, as the waitress turned to them again.

"Sorry?" She looked curiously between them.

Dean's eyes finally let Castiel go, and he resumed smiling his fake smile at the woman. "I'll have a Burger Special, too. Extra bacon. And a beer." The waitress scribbled the last order down on her paper blog, but instead of leaving she turned to Castiel again.

"Wouldn't you like something to drink?" Castiel was about to answer but forgot what he wanted to say, as all his attention was almost violently jerked to his shoulder. The woman's warm, ring-clad hand now rested there. Castiel stared at it, not knowing what to do. "Just water," his mouth simply replied. He darted his eyes upward for an instant before looking straight ahead. She had been smiling at him, a genuine one it had seemed.

She left them with a few cheerful words, another smile at Castiel, and a hand that took its time sliding off the shoulder. As Castiel looked back at Sam and Dean, it was two somehow similar, but yet very different expressions that met him. Sam looked happily surprised at him, where Dean looked as shocked as if had he just lost an arm wrestling to an old man.

"She was totally into you, Cas," Sam cheered.

"She just touched my shoulder. She wasn't inside of me." Castiel deadpanned, looking at the evidently delusionary man, who only grinned suggestively back at him. Hesitatingly he added: "She was trying to seduce me, yes, if that's what you meant."

At that Sam laughed out loud and even Dean cracked a wry grin, and said: "Dude, don't steal all the ladies, and then be so blank about it. You make us look bad."

Castiel looked surprised at the hunter seated so close beside him. He swallowed as he saw Dean's face. It wasn't the brightest, happiest smile - there was barely a glimpse of teeth, but it was real, and it shone in his eyes as well, and it was all fixated on him.

"What?" Dean fought off the stare, the smile faltering and dying.

Castiel had tons of things to say; questions flooded his head. Questions about Dean's constant change of hearts towards him, questions about why he received that smile and the pretty lady didn't. What Dean really wanted of him? Did he receive these treats of kindness when he did something right, and the anger when he made mistakes? He shook his head slowly, mouth gone dry, as he tried to remember what the conversation had been about. "I can't see why my presence could in any way make you and Sam look less attractive to others?"

"Cas, are you saying that you think Dean and I are attractive?" Sam's eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead.

Castiel was vigilant now. Something about the question and the way Sam's eyes shone with humorous joy, told him he should pick his words with care now, or he might end up abashing himself. Dean leaned sideways against the window, looking at him as if he was the funniest thing he had seen in a long time. A closed-mouthed, yet broad smile that reached his eyes decorated his face.

"I am saying," Castiel began cautiously, "that you are not unattractive, and that being near me wouldn't change that fact."

Both Winchesters seemed taken aback by the answer, but both also fought with everything they had to stop their amused smiles from being too visible: Though that seemed pointless as Castiel had already noticed them and interpreted them: He had either said something wrong or extremely comical, both meaning he had made a fool of himself.

"All the homo," Dean said into his hands before clearing his throat, and Sam lashed out at him with a laugh.

"What?" Castiel furrowed his brows at the weird comment.

"Nothing." Dean looked out the window, eyeing the view as if it had suddenly become much more interesting.

Sam took over, saving the side of Dean's head from the almost physical stare of Castiel. "What Dean meant before was just that if someone in a group of people looks really good, it might make the others look less good, because they will be compared to the really good-looking guy."

It made sense in that example, but that didn't explain reality. "But I'm not any more good-looking that you?"

They both looked almost fondly at him now.

There was a pause as the waitress came back with their orders, asked if there was anything else she could do for them, as she once again almost unnoticeably touched Castiel's shoulder. He moved uncomfortable at the contact. As she left again, she cast a glance back at the table, smiling at him.

"Obviously she thinks so," Sam noted with a smirk and Castiel just stared bewildered at his burger.

"Damn, Cas, deep down you really haven't changed." Dean grinned and took a sip of beer.

Castiel's head snapped to him, and he starred with what he knew was probably too much intensity, but right now he didn't care. Had Dean just insulted him or complimented him? Dean glanced at him, but didn't linger, as he had now also picked up his burger that apparently acquired his full attention. Castiel noticed Sam looked at him with squinty eyes and furrowed brows. He could feel the tension that had settled over the table, too, but much like Castiel, he couldn't quite put his finger on what had happened exactly.

"So the ghost; what are we gonna do about it?" Castiel had finally picked up his burger himself and taken a bite, his mouth full when he spoke.

Sam answered: "We need to find out what the spirit's attached to now. If he's left some of his body behind somehow."

Dean swallowed his mouthful of burger. "You know, being hit by a train is said to be a messy affair: Smashed bodies and limbs being ripped off." He held a suggestive pause, "I think we should have a look at the autopsy report; see if anything was missing."

Sam agreed before diving into his turkey salad again. Castiel moved slightly in his seat to get closer to the table, and his left knee bumped against Dean's right. Seeing as they both now sat as they liked, Castiel thought no more of it, and didn't move his leg again. Beside him Dean stilled mid-chew. He sent Castiel a quick glance and looked at the table as is he could see through it at their touching legs. He pursed his lips slightly, but then dropped his eyes back to the burger and started chewing again, pretending like nothing had happened.

…

The white coat clad man turned back to them, examining the file in his hands. "What did you say you were looking for?"

He sent them a quizzical look over his slim glasses as he handed the file to Castiel.

"We didn't," the warrior said, and instantly received a shut-your-mouth stare from Dean, as the doctor's eyes shifted uncertainly.

"The body's condition," Dean smiled a bit too forced in an attempt to delete the effects of Castiel's reply. "Thank you." The man seemed to let Castiel's rudeness pass, and smiled back at Dean.

Castiel quickly copied the polite words, but the man didn't look his way anymore.

The first thing they had done after arriving at the hospital was to double check the date of the cremation. The doctor had not only provided them with the right date but also with the precise, but rather indifferent minute. It had indeed been three days prior, so they had now moved on to the next possible option. That a body part had been torn off and thus avoided cremation and kept the spirit bound to the earth. Castiel opened the file, his eyes roaming over the words and Dean and Sam joined in behind him. Quickly Sam's hand shot forward, pressing against a section on the page.

"Here," he breathed. For a second there was complete silence, except for the paramedic who had returned to his desk, trying to look busy tidying it up, while in reality he kept a curious eye on them.

Castiel lifted his eyes abruptly, catching him looking at them. The paramedic swallowed nervously under the stare and quickly turned away completely.

"According to this, they succeeded retrieving the entire body. No limps or any other body parts were missing." With a frustrated grunt Sam took the file from Castiel, desperately flipping through it. "We must have missed something."

"Or maybe this just isn't our guy?" Dean suggested.

"Who else would it be?"

"Abraham Lincoln. How would I know?" Dean retort frustratedly.

"Wait." Castiel stopped Sam from turning another page. "Right here; this is all the things that were found on the body." He examined the list while Sam looked on in curious anticipation.

Castiel's finger pressed heavily against an item almost at the bottom of the list.

One gold tooth in a leather string.

Dean moved closer. "Wait a second… didn't that Hay officer guy tell us that our electrician had his own gold tooth knocked out recently."

"He did," Castiel replied, examining Dean's reaction. His friend exclaimed a short, victorious laughter and gave him a single, firm pad on the shoulder.

Within minutes this new information had carried them into the Impala and sent them on their way to the local police station again. As they entered the building they were greeted by a surprised-looking Officer Hay. "Welcome back, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

Dean and Castiel took a moment to survey the surroundings, while Sam stepped forward, his hands casually pocketed, clearly feeling in complete control of the situation.

"We're just here to have a look at some of the evidence," he said, looking as relaxed as ever, and not giving anything away. Castiel regarded him interestedly. No matter how many times he had witnessed them doing this part of the job, it sought to astound him time and time again how well these men delivered their lies. How easily it befell them.

The officer furrowed his brows in confusion. "The evidence of the Brian McGorn case?"

"The case of his death last week, yes. We believe you found some personal belongings on the body, and we'd like to take a closer look."

Castiel's gaze shifted slightly to catch the reaction of the officer. He liked him and found it ill to lie to him, but knew it was best not to tell the truth. He had previously experienced people accusing him of being mad or, on rarer occasions, just an idiot.

The officer motioned for them to follow as he left the reception hall. "Honestly, I have no idea why the FBI is looking into this case. We've checked up on Steve Haming, the engine driver who hit him. We haven't found any evidence it was either homicide or negligent homicide. Anyway the guy's dead now, so even if we were to arrest him…" he trailed off.

While he talked, he led them from the reception hall and into the heart of the building, snaking through twisted hallways, passing a dozen small offices and through a bright room with a table placed in the middle, before they entered the file storage room. It was a hard, windowless room crammed with tall steel shelves loaded with folders, briefcases and boxes in all kinds of sizes and shapes. The whole lot was dimly lit by three or four fluorescent tubes hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the rows created by the hoarded evidence.

"Does the FBI believe this case is connected with the train collision? I mean; same driver, same railroad."

_And same train_, Castiel added in his thoughts. "I'm afraid we cannot share that kind of information," he said evasively.

Officer Hay looked taken aback. It was the first he had ever heard Castiel say. Beside the officer stood Dean. He gave his friend an astounded look and the corner of his lips twisted upwards ever so slightly, but the 'agent' quickly regained his composure.

Hay looked somberly at Castiel. "Of course, it wasn't my intention to pry into FBI businesses."

Castiel accepted the undeserved apology with a faint nod, contemplating his own developing skills at deception and how little pain lying now caused him. He remembered the first time Dean had taken him along on one of his cases, telling him while he made him look presentable that if humans wanted something, they lied to get it. He hadn't really grasped the concept of it then. The officer began searching the shelves, and a few silent moments later they were lead back out in the previous room with the table in the middle. Castiel glanced up at the skylight above them through which a milky sunlight shone. He watched as it fell a few feet before colliding with the cold, electronic lamb light and was fought back and kept in check. A small box marked '#149003 – McGron, Boris' was placed on the table in front of the three suited men.

"If you need anything, you just let me know. I'll be just down the hall, to the right." He looked expectantly at them, as if he awaiting a question that never came, but at Sam's 'thank you', he withdrew and left them alone with the box.

"If I didn't know better I'd say he's as green as they get. I've never seen a greater sucker for the FBI," Dean remarked with highly raised brows in an unimpressed fashion.

Castiel frowned. "It's because he trusts us." They all fell silent for a moment. Then Sam decided to slowly coaxed the lid of the box and they all leaned across to get a better look inside, the slightly uncomfortable atmosphere of guilt forgotten.

There were only a few items inside, all stuffed in their own little transparent bag. The tooth was lying in one end. With cautious fingers Sam picked it up and held it before his eyes, turning the bag as he examined the shiny object. He glanced sideways at Dean, and whatever he saw there made him fold the bag once and hide it in an inner pocket of his suit.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Hi everybody. Sorry for keeping you waiting. I tried something new with this chapter: writing it in my native language and then translating it to English. Hopefully it has made the language more varied and colourful __ Other than that, enjoy the chapter. My favourite so far._

_Warnings: Language, violence_

_I own nothing bla bla bla, ok_

_ALLONS-Y_

* * *

Chapter Five

Sam opened the trunk of the car, and he and Dean started packing two bags with various weapons and equipment. Castiel just stood next to the trunk, squinting at Sam's pocket, where the tooth was hidden.

"How do you burn gold?"

"You don't. You melt it," Dean said and pulled out the duffle bag stuffed with cans of salt and gasoline. The shorter man nodded courteously, but still looked dubious. Normally when Dean and Sam hunted ghost, they found a whole skeleton to salt and burn. The amount of flames kept the heat up and the fire going, but this was a single tiny gold tooth. To just light it afire with a little gasoline would accomplice nothing but maybe rounding the corners a bit and sooting it. They needed a proper hot fire to melt it down. There had been a fireplace in their room at the motel, but it was one of those useless, fake things that would melt if you held as much as a lighter close to it. Therefore after the small gang had left the police station, they soon found themselves leaving the town behind to seek the surrounding forest's comfortable shelter against prying eyes. Randomly they turned off the main road and into the wilderness, following a set of small grass covered wheel tracks. They were led to a small round clearing where a compilation of old shelters circled a soothed, long unused campfire. The sun had long since disappeared behind the tall trees, and was probably now minutes away from setting. They sky was rosy and their surroundings darkening. A tiring day was at its close.

Dean reached behind to place his gun in the rim of his pants and swung a shotgun over his shoulder, before walking into the circle of empty shelters. They gaped at him with their big black mouths as he passed. He eyed them attentively. Castiel followed close behind with long, firm strides, his own shotgun over one shoulder and a crowbar of iron in hand. They started preparing. Dean had already started to collect less wet wood for the fire, when Sam halfway through his inspections of the shelters found a small stock of dry firewood. The other Winchester dumped his pitiful collection of twigs and mouldering wood to the ground with an irritated grunt, and went to fetch the dry ones. When Sam was satisfied that neither children nor werewolves were hiding in the dark tree caves, the fire was already lit; helped along by the content of Dean's loyal petrol can.

"What's the plan?" asked Sam and watched the slender petrol fuelled flames, as they started gnawing at the tree and grew. The fire bathed the small ring of shelters in a warm, flickering light, drawing the shadows long and making them dance to a soundless music. The three men stood completely still for a moment and the only sound audible, was the crackling sound of tree being devoured and a wind making leaves rustle in the trees high above their heads. Sam shuttered as a gush of wind made its way down from the open space above, and went to get a jacket. Castiel however was completely consumed by the flames and his thought, only his hair moved in the small breeze.

He frustrated Dean. Why could he not just keep to one state of mind? Why did he have to walk around and silently beg Dean for forgiveness, showing off those big, kicked-puppy eyes of his and the next moment expect, almost demand of Dean to kick him out of his life and abandon him? It was frustratingly hard to keep being mad at him already, without having to protect him from himself.

One of the burning pieces of wood gave off a particular loud crack.

Dean wasn't mad at him anymore. Not like he'd been the days after it had all happened. He had worried for Sam, fearing for Cas, and felt so angry and hurt for what he had done. And suddenly Castiel was back, Sam got a prophecy of doom, Metatron ran Heaven and the only way to save it all was to find a non-dying and therefore non-existing way into Heaven, and everything just seemed to collide both in and around him. Dean felt like he had been the only one who wanted to find a solution to that pronto. The fact that Sam had actually used several hours hunting down potentially useful books and papers and articles, and reading it through on the way here had been a huge relief for Dean. He could feel some of the tension had disappeared, and he had felt better today, than he had in weeks. He had reminded himself what they had previously accomplished on the road, and that it was actually on the road they seemed to be at their best. Dean had been close to crawling the walls in their bunker and had most likely thrown a fit, if they had stayed put for much longer. He knew, he needed these hunts to function, to think clear. As today had been a good proof of. He was hunting, his little brother was still alive and kicking, and his best friend had returned home to him again, back from the dead once more.

Cas. Dean looked over at him on the other side of the fire. The intense warm now emerging from it made the ex-angel shimmer and blurred his features, so Dean to his unspoken annoyance couldn't study them. For less than two days ago Dean had thought Castiel wanted to be part of the family, wanted Dean's forgiveness for what happened at the church. For everything he had done actually, but in the small, lamp lit room with one of Dean's suits in hand and with a toneless voice, he had with a few words formulated that he did not deserve any of that. He did not deserve to be forgiven. Even though Dean was mad at him, it pissed him off even more to know that Castiel apparently thought that all the shit Dean had given him so far was well-deserved. Dean had physically assaulted him a little at that. The words had triggered something inside of him. The memory of that one fatale moment in Purgatory that had hunted Dean for so long afterwards, even when he learned the truth of it, filled him. Castiel had let him go and had stayed behind, because that was what he believed he deserved. Dean had known those feelings were still eating Castiel from the inside, when he had been brought back to Earth anyway. He had fervently hoped that it had slowly been forgotten, though, that it had disappeared, and that Castiel after the episode with Naomi had come to understand that he was one of the best and most honourable angels still. But Dean supposed he of all people should understand that feelings like that never seemed to resolve so easily. As Castiel had said; Dean had never felt more undeserving of anything than his salvation from Hell. Despite everything that had happened since, he still sometimes found himself having those thoughts; thinking he belonged in Hell and wasn't worth this second chance. There were people so much more deserving than him. So Dean knew the pain. He knew how much it hurt to feel that way, and how every time he had felt joy, a moment later a feeling of guilt so heavy and black it almost seemed to suffocate him hit him. His stomach clenched painfully knowing this was what Castiel felt now. He had probably felt like that, ever since he opened the gate to Purgatory and let out the Leviathans. That was two years ago now.

_Cas, you idiot. I'm not that mad at you. Mostly disappointed. _Dean wanted to say it out loud, but the knowledge that his brother was sitting right beside them held him back. Dean had to his surprise come to find that he, for some reason, had an easier time going all sharing and caring with Castiel than with Sam. The thought made him pull a face at himself, but it kept developing in his mind. Maybe it was because Sam was his little brother, he needed to protect him; needed to keep his game-face on for him - especially now. He had to be strong for his little brother. Castiel was... he was Cas, the most non-judgemental being, Dean had ever met. At least when it came to human norms and rules. He didn't care about any of that.

"I had completely forgotten how much I enjoy campfires," Sam sighed quietly. Dean pulled his eyes from the hypnotic flames and watched his brother.

"Didn't know you had a thing for campfires?"

"Well, it just reminds me of all the times while we were young, where we had to spend a night outside, because we couldn't find a motel. Dad would make a fire just like this, and sometimes you would tell me a story. Never – a scary story. 'Don't think you wanted me to know about that stuff, but just something you'd seen in the television or in school or something. It was when we were small enough to sleep on the backseat together." Sam finished with a small grin that was more affectionate than humoured really. Dean studied his face; the smile, the eyes, the small wrinkles. In his eyes he could still see the bright, innocent, little boy, he had told those stories, played with and watched out for. Now the brightness had dulled, and the boy and the warm smiles were long time since hidden far away. The eyes sat deep and dark in their sockets now, and deep lines were forever visible on the broad forehead. Sam was sick. Deathly. Dean drew his eyes back with a cold, clammy feeling in his stomach. Nails bored into the palms of his hands. "Yeah, I remember."

The silence descended again. They were seated on the encircling stones, warming their bodies by the fire, as it became darker and cooler around them, as the sun dived deeper into the horizon. As summer neared it didn't really become that cold at night anymore. Nonetheless, Dean threw a bigger piece of wood on the fire and waited patiently for the fire to get hold of it, before he looked back at Sam.

"You think it's good now?"

"Hm," Sam looked at him, distantly, clearly not completely returned from his own mind. "Oh, yeah," he responded quickly a second later as the eyes became attentive. They had changed from their formal suits to more comfortable clothing – except Castiel, but Sam had still remembered to transfer their catch to the pocket in his jeans. After a moment of fumbling around he held up the little transparent bag. The golden replica glimmered in the glow of the fire.

Sam opened the bag and shoved two fingers in there to fish out the tooth.

A big, broad man, dressed in white overalls suddenly stood by the youngest Winchester. On his head he wore a yellow helmet and the cheeks were covered with bristly whiskers, but neither helmet nor beard could hide the smashed crater that was the half of his head. The flickering light from the fire made his pale, dead eyes seem almost living. Despite his entire body seeming to be broken and then put together wrong, he moved with frightening speed. Sam gave a surprised sound and only just managed to throw himself backwards of the stone, as a big arm wielded a wrench at his head.

He landed on his back with a dump sound, knocking the air from his lungs. The ghost raised the tool above its head again and with a silent roar swung it down. The shotgun was in Dean's hands before he even new realized it, and the sound of it thundered through the clearing.

The ghost vanished in a shower of rock salt. Dean loaded again, as he leaped forward and grabbed his brother, pulling him back on his legs. Swiftly they were both ready, almost back to back and scouting the clearing for the smallest movement.

Dean threw Castiel a quick glance to make sure their new partner was okay. He stood with his shotgun raised and steel in his eyes.

"Sam, throw it on the fire, now!" Dean urged roughly, his finger completely still on the trigger, despite the rush of adrenalin suddenly pumping through his veins.

"I dropped it," Sam replied desperately. Suddenly the man appeared again, right in front of him. The wrenched hammered against Sam's shoulder, throwing the tall man to the side.

"Sam!" Dean spun, but too late. Another hit came crashing, this time towards Dean's temple. Dean's eyes went wide, as he realized it was too late to duck, and too late to ward off. Almost too late to even fathom what was about to happen.

A stinging pain burned its way into his right side and arm, like a hundred needles pricking his skin, and the ghost of Boris dissolved in a faint swirl of smoke before him. It took Dean around half a second to understand that it was not a hit with a wrench that was ringing in his ear, but the shot from the shotgun in Castiel's hands.

Then he threw himself on his hands and knees, ignoring the pain in his side and arm; his eyes roamed the ground desperately, while his hands groped around. Above him he heard Castiel fire his shotgun again. And again. Then he saw the bag. The gold tooth was still safely inside. He grabbed it and flung it on the fire, grabbed the can of salt and threw in a handful. Dean stared, unblinking, at the small lump of gold. The bag melted instantly, but even the tooth already started to round at the corners. A scream tore his attention upwards, and he saw Boris' ghost on the other side of the fire, less than 4 feet from Castiel, with the wrench lifted above his head. Fire erupted from the open mouth, eating up the screams, and like lightning it burned down through his body, and ate him from the inside out, and then he was gone. Dean looked back at the tooth in the fire. A small, golden puddle was sizzling on a piece of wood.

He looked up at Castiel again, meeting his screening stare. Dean threw him a faint smile. "Like stealing candy from a kid." Castiel squinted at him in strong disapproval. Dean rolled his eyes, but then a grunt erupted from the youngest Winchester, as he sat up. Sam was holding his right shoulder with a racked expression and tried to survey the situation.

"Don't worry, Sammy. It's gone, no thanks to your sorry ass, though. 'You okay?" he then added in concern, as his brother still held his shoulder.

"I think, my shoulder's dislocated."

Dean quickly moved to his brother's side. He removed his hand and opened the checked shirt to get a better look at the shoulder. It had already swollen a good deal and had taken a strong discolouration. Carefully Dean began to feel around it. Sam's face twisted shortly, but else he remained passive and watched his brother work.

"Either dislocated or you have a damn weird shoulder. Matches you now," Dean laughed, but it quickly faded at the look on his brother's face. "Cas, grab the other side," he said, settled himself on the ground and grabbed Sam's upper arm tight with both hands.

Castiel sat knelt on Sam's other side, but he seemed unsure of what to do. Despite the man injured man's successful fight not to show any sign of pain, his face had taken a lighter colour. At Dean's word Castiel made a tight grip around Sam's upper body. He nodded curtly to indicate he was ready. Sam clenched his teeth, and Dean pulled hard at his arm, as Castiel braced against him. After a few seconds of exertion a loud _crack _echoed through the clearing and the shoulder fell into its socket. As one they all exhaled the breath they had been holding. Sam attempted moving the shoulder, but quickly let the limb fall with a strained expression.

"Give it a rest, there, kiddo. You're not Wolverine."

Sam frowned at him; a weak shadow of his usual bitchface. "And you're not a doctor, so shut it, smartass."He pushed himself up with the other arm.

"Feels good, hu. To be back in the game."

"Dude, it was you who didn't want to go in the first place."

"Yeah, but you know me; my week's not complete without at least one hunt and a hunt's not a hunt without some ugly bastard trying to kill us."

Sam did that little grin accompanied with an eye roll of his. Castiel considered him for a moment.

"No, I can imagine it would be unusual if everything elapsed painlessly."

Dean made a face. "I Wouldn't say that. We've had our easy jobs. You know, wasting the bad guys before they even knew what hit 'em."

Castiel looked up at him with surprise in his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing as if he tried to remember something, and a little dimple was created between them. Dean could not remember if it seemed more defined than usual, or if it was just the shadows playing on his face. The night was truly nearing now. The sky had soon turned from deep orange to dark blue, and the darkness was now dominant down here between the trees. Only the flames from the campfire, which still burned briskly in the centre of the circle, kept it at bay and supplied them with enough light that they were able to start collecting some of their stuff. Dean gave the shelters a pondering look.

"I don't recall I've read of any such hunts," half-murmured Castiel then, "Problem-free hunts, I mean." He added as he saw Dean's expression. At his words Dean had turned slowly towards him with a disturbed look.

"_Read?_"

As both Winchesters were now starring him down, the ex-angel looked increasingly confused between them.

"Cas, have you read the Supernatural books?" Sam asked slowly.

"Of course."

Sam pulled a beautiful bitch face, pursed lips and all, and sent Dean _the look_. Dean drew a breath into his lungs and exhaled slowly.

"Well, Sammy, seems like we're the only ones we know, who hasn't read them," he said turned to Sam with ill-concealed annoyance, but then burst: "Those things creeps around in our heads, man!" Castiel looked perplex. "I'm sorry, I didn't know I was not supposed to read them. But they did help me to understand you and helped me to choose who to fight for."

Dean stooped mid-motion, and turned to him. By reading those pieces of shit you understand squad about us."

"Maybe not about you, Dean. I knew all about you. But Sam. From your memories and the books I learned all about who Sam was before..." Castiel hesitated and gave Sam a sideway glance. Sam, too, had stooped what he was doing and listened. "Before he got addicted to demon blood and did what he did."

_Started the Apocalypse. Oh wait, that was me. _Dean bit the inside of his cheek. They had been of some use then, those bloody things. A minute passed in silence, as they gathered the last things. Only when Dean lifted his heavy booted foot to kick sand over the fire to suffocate it, did Sam observe: "It's been a long time since we've last camped outside."

The foot settled on the ground again. Then Dean slowly added: "These shelters are not complete wrecks." The two brothers looked at each other and almost on cue did smiles grow on their lips.

Dean's back seemed determined to tell him what a bad idea it thought it was, when he was finally lay in one of the shelters. He was still fully dressed and rolled up in a blanket, like a big, ridicules tortilla wrap. If they were jumped by anything right now, Dean's first big problem would not be to fight off the attacker, but to fight his way out of the blanket. He had stuffed his hands behind his head and looked lazily at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting. By his left side lay his jotun of a brother sprawled across the floor of the shelter, evidently in a deep sleep that found him maybe half an hour ago, maybe more. Time was a fluent thing when you lay awake at night. On his right side Castiel slept. To be honest it had surprised Dean to find that the normally so controlled and serious angel – _Ex-angel! _Dean gritted his teeth – was a snorer. It wasn't very loud and not constantly though, not like his brother, if he first rolled over on his back. That probably also explain why Dean hadn't noticed before.

Dean wriggled around on his stomach and peered out the shelter. The campfire had burned to embers. They smouldered orange in the midst of the blackness of the night. After they had packed the most dispensable gear back in Dean's car, they had returned to the fire. Dean had passed beers around and Sam had feed the fire with more wood, and they had consumed their hard-earned victory beers in comfortable silence. They had heated some of the simple canned food, the brothers always had lying around in the car for times of need. Dean had complained a little about the quality, Castiel had eaten it thoughtfully and Sam had teased Dean with his delicate taste bud. To want proper food, like burgers, had nothing to do with delicate taste buds, Dean had argued.

A few beers later and Dean and Sam had started telling Castiel about some of their unrecorded hunts. Often they held less drama than even today had, and today had went somewhat smooth. Sam gave a displeased noise at that and waved his injured arm, making his face twitch which merely underscored his point even better. In return Castiel told them more about Heaven and elaborated on some biblical stories, and from time to time completely dismissed some as untrue. He told them about historical events he had surveyed and some of his previous missions. Dean had listened in fascination.

All in all it had been a good day. They had faked the existence of Federal Agents – this time full three of them – without being called out on their bluff, and they had found and ganked another evil son of a bitch with no servere injuries. Sam's shoulder had been popped back in place, so that didn't really count anymore. But it had been close to turning really ugly. His side and arm that had been grazed by a bit of rock salt still felt sensitive and raw, like a sunburn, but that shot had probably saved his life. Dean still hadn't said anything about it. And neither had Castiel. He didn't mind that Castiel had aided him, that wasn't what irritated Dean. The problem was that now he knew that someday he had to admit to his brother that taking Castiel along had been a good idea, even though he had been so much against it. And Sam would probably make some dumb jape about it. But Castiel had saved his life. He had shot him too, but that was necessary. Before they had been even halfway through Purgatory, Dean had lost count of how many times they had saved each other, but this time was different. This had been an ordinary hunt, Dean's work, his specialty, and Castiel kicked-ass at it. Today even more so than him, and every argument Dean had had against allowing Castiel to come with them had crashed to the ground during the day, and this had been the final blow. He had no more reasons to not let Castiel tag along anymore. Today Castiel had done his work like a professional. He hadn't said much, but that just assured that when he did, everyone paid attention like they believed every word was of utter importance. And sometime during the day, Dean wasn't sure of when, he had simply forgotten to be mad at him. He had just felt glad to have him around again.

A ragged sigh pulled Dean's eyes away from the hypnotizing coals and towards the man in his thoughts. Castiel was still sleeping in the same off-hand position with one arm over his head, draped around his borrowed jacket, which now served as a pillow. His light snoring had been exchanged with weak irregular whimpers, and his brows and the corner of his lips twitched.

_Is he having a nightmare?_ He didn't quite know what to do, so it was a bit hesitatingly he stretched out his hand and grabbed Castiel's shoulder. "Cas," he whispered, trying not to wake his brother. He gave the shoulder a light shake. Two white orbs were suddenly visible in the dark as Castiel's eyes flew up. With a vicious snarl he grabbed Dean around the wrist and before the other man had a chance to react with anything but a surprised sound, Castiel pulled him off balance. The next thing Dean knew, he was lying on his back, with his head pressed against the hard wooden floor by Castiel's strong hand against his forehead.

"What the hell!" shouted Dean angrily as he realized what had happened. He stared up at the dark haired man, who loomed above him, irately. Castiel's face was no longer distorted in panic rage, but now stared down at him in mild astonishment.

"What's going on?" came Sam's ragged voice to Dean's left. He was wide awake, holding a forearm long knife in his hand. In the light of the dying fire Dean could pinpoint the second his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he could survey the scene before him properly. His eyes grew a little as he looked from Castiel's hand on Dean's forehead to the man himself, who was still staring at Dean as if had he no idea what the other man was doing beneath him.

"What are you doing?"

"Cas is just trying to smite me, that's all," growled Dean, and Castiel finally removed the warm hand from his head and withdrew. In the moment of scuffle the blanket had caught his lower half completely, and Dean kicked his legs with more force than necessary to untangle himself. He felt embarrassed to have been taken so off-guard. He hadn't even managed to defend himself. "Angel-boy here was having a bad dream, so I tried to wake him and he jumped me."

"My apologies," mumbled Castiel guiltily.

"A nightmare? About what?" Sam asked.

The lines between Castiel's brows deepened, as he tried to recall the dream, which was already disappearing in the waken clarity. He chewed his lower lip, and Dean watched the movement, waiting.

"I can't remember much. I – I was burning, I think, in Hell."

"'You ever had nightmares before?" Sam looked his usual worried self now.

Castiel shook his head. "Not what I can recall, but so far, most nights just feel like this non-existing amount of time and then I wake up."

"Dreamless, hu?" Dean mumbled. He felt Sam giving him a screening look. Clearing his throat he said; "All right, girls, back to bed," and gave Castiel a pat on the thigh. He quickly enrolled himself in his blanket and nestled back on the floor. Next to him his recent assaulter did the same without further words. His brother seemed to hesitate for a moment, but eventually he followed suit. Time started to pass at an undefined pace again. As Dean rolled to his stomach, he suddenly realized Castiel was lying closer than before, as his knee pressed against the side of the other's leg. For a second he considered pulling away, but then memories of another life in another world pushed their way into his mind. Memories of hunting and being hunted every day. Fleeing through an endless forest filled with enemies, with an angel and a vampire by his side. Every night they would take it in turns to keep watch, giving the other two a chance to sleep. The nights in Purgatory had been even more ruthless and colder than the days, and they had slept close together to keep warm. It had seldom been worth the warmth to light a fire. The light would make you night-blind, so you couldn't see the evil creatures it, as a bonus, also would attract.

A strange feeling knotted in Dean's stomach. Uncomfortably aware of it, he maneuvered himself slightly closer to Castiel, but still making sure it was only their legs touching. This was a comfortable position; Dean told himself and closed his eyes. _Much better_.


End file.
